


Howl at the Moon

by wondering_why_i



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wondering_why_i/pseuds/wondering_why_i
Summary: The dreams start when Sam still thinks a demon is possessing Dean, and when Crowley tells himDeanis the demon, the dreams start creeping up during the day. The game changes once Dean catches on to the goings on in Sam’s head.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LiveJournal's 2016 spn_reversebang. Based on art by milly_gal (LJ: http://milly-gal.livejournal.com/1655659.html)
> 
> A huge thanks to artist milly_gal. Aside from being great to work with, she also pulled off an amazing fic header while having zero idea what I was writing (totally my fault which I really need to apologize for!).

Sam drinks from the deep cut on Dean’s wrist, only stopping momentarily to lick up the line of blood dripping down over the Mark of Cain before returning to suck and lick more blood. He’s surrounded by warmth, surrounded by his brother: Dean’s blood in his mouth, his hand on the back of Sam’s neck, arm on his back, chest pressed to Sam’s other arm. “Drink as much as you need, Sammy.”

The ringing of Sam’s alarm interrupts and the warmth disappears. Sam feels around the bedside table until he locates his phone to shut it off. The room falls silent, and he allows himself one moment to close his eyes. Black eyes and blood slowly fade from his mind, and Sam sits up, burying the dream as far as he can. 

Yesterday’s shirt hangs off his bedroom sink, and Sam hears the crossroad demon’s words in his head.

_“A Winchester? One of us?”_

Her blood stains the shirt, and Sam tosses it in the trash without a second thought before leaving his room.

Two weeks of searching for something, anything, and now that he has an answer, he wishes he didn’t. Dean’s gone and the only thing Sam can hope to recover now is his brother’s body so that he can give Dean the farewell he deserves.

* * *

Sam’s eyes are swimming and his head aches. If he keeps going, he’ll end up missing any information he may come across.

He could use a shower, but he doesn’t have the energy to battle with his injured arm or its sling, so he settles for splashing water onto his face. It feels good, refreshing, and for a moment Sam contemplates simply making a fresh pot of coffee, maybe some food, and pushing through more research. The thought leaves quickly, however, when his body reminds him that rest is essential.

Sam visits Dean’s room on the way to his own, telling himself maybe this time he’ll see some little clue, anything to help, but the room doesn’t tell him anything; Dean’s note doesn’t tell him anything. Sam considers Dean’s bed for a moment before putting the note back down on the pillow and heading for his own room instead to immediately crawl into bed.

Sam closes his eyes and before long, Dean is above him, amulet gently swinging back and forth, bumping into his chin as Dean’s hips roll into his own. Sam runs his fingers over Dean’s chest where his tattoo should be.

“Where’s your tattoo?”

There’s youthfulness in Dean’s face, in his eyes, that Sam hasn’t seen in a long time, and he realises Dean is in twenties. Dean slides a finger into him and Sam hums.

“Don’t need it anymore,” Dean tells him, black eyes looking down at him.

Sam jolts awake, looking around and confirming to himself that he is, in fact, awake and in his room, in his bed. He settles back down into the pillows, allowing the memories of his dream, the real memories of that night so long, to wash over him. He’s spent years burying thoughts of that night, pretending it didn’t exist, that it never happened. It should have been harder to do with Dean constantly around, but now that Dean is gone, now that the option is gone, it’s safe to let himself think, to let himself remember. He can’t have Dean, but he can have his memories, even the ones he shouldn’t have.

His phone says he’s been out for just over three hours, and it’ll have to be enough. He’s run on less in the past. He’s got work to do.

Sam makes coffee, enough to keep him going for a few hours, and makes himself a bowl of stale cereal. When he comes across a lead in his research, he can barely believe it. It’s small, but it’s something.

Research tells him Portage, Wisconsin is a ten hour drive from the bunker. The car is already stocked with anything he could need, and Sam swaps the coffee pot for a thermos before heading out. 

It’s the middle of the night when he reaches Portage, and Sam pulls into the first motel he sees, ready to settle in for some much needed sleep until he can visit the local authorities in the morning. 

* * *

Dean is a demon.

Dean is _alive_.

A car horn interrupts his thoughts of Dean, and Sam chastises himself. He needs to stop. His brother is alive.

* * *

Silence has filled the Impala for close to an hour now, and Dean decides to break it. 

“So have I mentioned you look like crap? I mean, aside from the arm and recent abduction.” Sam stays silent and doesn’t even look up into the rear view mirror. Dean nudges the back of his brother’s seat with his foot. “Come on, Sammy. Tell your big brother what’s going on.”

“What’s going on? You think I’ve been sunning myself on a beach these last few weeks?”

“I don’t know. Thought maybe you’d hit another dog or decided to check out the local community college. Clearly I was wrong. So what is it? Missed me so much you couldn’t sleep?”

“Finding out your brother is a demon doesn’t exactly lend itself to restful sleeping, Dean.”

“So nightmares then?” Sam doesn’t answer him, and Dean studies what he can see of Sam’s face and body. “You wake up covered in sweat, screaming for me?” Sam’s jaw clenches harder and his hands tighten around the steering wheel. Dean smirks at himself in the car window and stays silent until Sam’s body begins to relax.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he tells Sam. “I would have preferred hanging out with you instead of Crowley, but we both know you wouldn’t have let me be. Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to let them go, Sammy.” Sam just shakes his head. “How about a drink?” Dean suggests. “It’s a long drive back to the bunker.”

“Sorry, fresh out of coffee and beer.” Sam’s voice drips with sarcasm.

“I was actually thinking of demon blood.” The car swerves slightly and Dean chuckles. “How long did you think you would be able to hide it from me, Sam? I know you inside and out. Quite literally, if you’ll recall. You know, that night feels like it was just yesterday, but at the same time it feels like forever ago. You decided that night was wrong and could never happen again.”

“It _was_ wrong.”

“Hell, you even broke off contact. We both know it wasn’t because of Dad and hunting. It was us. You were so torn. You so desperately wanted to be normal, couldn’t wait to get away, but even you couldn’t escape the homesickness. You couldn’t run away from your feelings either. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Before Stanford, you could tolerate the want because at least you had me there. You wouldn’t take the extent of what you wanted, but you still had me. Then you left and all you had was ‘normal’. Not an ounce of Dean. Not so much as a hand on your back or ruffling your hair, slight affections you could soak in, small touches you could safely allow yourself to lean into.

“I remember every detail of that night. You were so nervous but so eager.” Dean keeps sharing details of being with Sam, and when they reach a red light, Sam digs into the glove compartment and pulls out headphones, popping them into his ears and turning on his music so loudly Dean can hear it from the back seat.

He finds he doesn’t want to kill his brother anymore, but he needs a new plan because Sam won’t let him be. Sam will keep trying to save him. What he needs is Sam to be free of his humanity. He needs psychic Sam, and he needs him at a level he has yet to reach in the past, a level that will strip away a lot, if not all of his humanity.

They still have over nine hours until they reach the bunker, and Dean closes his eyes. He has a plan to formulate.

* * *

Sam stabs him with another needle, and Dean grunts through the pain.

“Have you figured out how you’ll kill me if the blood ritual doesn’t work, Sammy? You know you’re going to have to. Unless you let me go. Come with me. You and me, on the road. Things could be different if you’d just let them.”

Sam doesn’t answer, instead leaving the room once again, the door slamming behind him. Dean sighs.

The realisation comes to him as he focuses on the needle marks scattered on his forearm. The more sanctified blood Sam injects him with, the less demonic he becomes. Dean can almost taste the freedom as he starts working on freeing himself from the ropes and cuffs binding him to the chair. Once free of restraints, Dean stands and walks to the edge of the Devil’s Trap, pushing a hand against it. There’s resistance but there’s also give, and Dean pushes past the resistance, crossing the trap with a painful grunt. 

He finds his phone on one of the storage shelves near the door, and puts in a quick call to Crowley. He relays his new plan, painting a picture of a future he knows the King of Hell wants, and after a little convincing, Crowley agrees to give him another chance. 

Dean tells him Cas is on his way to the bunker, and Crowley tells him he’ll take care of Cas, leaving Dean free to deal with Sam.

* * *

Sam comes to, and Dean watches from the corner as his brother takes in his situation: first his uninjured arm secured to the chair’s armrest, then his injured arm tightly secured to his body, and lastly the metal collar secured around his neck and chained to the floor. Sam looks around the dungeon in a panic until his eyes land on Dean in the corner.

Dean has painkillers and a glass of whiskey laced with his blood, a fact he won’t be disclosing to Sam, and holds them up to his brother. “See, I'm not all bad.”

“I’m not swallowing pills with the help of alcohol, Dean.

“Suit yourself,” Dean tells him, and tosses the pills into the nearby sink before offering Sam the alcohol again. Sam refuses the drink, and Dean points out that this is a situation that calls for a stiff drink. After a moment, Sam let’s Dean help him drink.

Dean pulls a chair up, its back to Sam, and sits.

“I’ve fantasized about tying you up many times over the years after our night together.” Sam’s body visibly stiffens. “I’ve fantasized about fucking all the bitchiness out of you.”

Sam glares and Dean grins. “There’s the face; the patented Sam Winchester bitch face. Now don’t get me wrong. I love that face, it’s been a source of amusement for me your entire life, but I want a _fun_ Sam, an ‘I do what I want, no matter what,’ Sam. I’ve seen the want in your eyes, the want for what you’ve been refusing to let happen between us again. And I have plans, plans to get you to let go of everything that holds you back.

“We’ve crossed many a line over the years, Sammy, but the thing about that is who sets those lines? Who chooses what’s right and wrong? Yes, some lines are obvious. Lester was an obvious line you crossed. His blood is definitely on your hands. But what you and I did all those years ago when you were at Stanford? Who decided that was a line that shouldn’t be crossed?”

“You have me chained and locked up because you want sex?”

“You’re only hearing part of what I’m saying. My fault. I wasn’t forthcoming with the details of the plans I mentioned. They do include more than sex, which, by the way, I assure you I won’t take without consent. That’s a line Dean Winchester would never cross.”

“Well isn’t that comforting,” Sam quips sarcastically. “Are you going to let me in on your plan?”

“Eventually,” Dean tells him. Sam will figure it out soon enough.

Over the course of the next few days, Dean laces drinks and food with his blood and spends a lot of his time sitting with Sam, talking. His brother has no other option but to listen, and Sam’s attitude eventually softens, anger and fear over what’s happening being overshadowed by guilt over his feelings and desires.

It’s the end of day five when Dean feels he can physically test the waters with Sam, and before leaving his brother for the night, Dean bends forward so that his face almost touches Sam’s. 

“You’re worried about what the world thinks, but the world isn’t here right now,” he tells Sam quietly.

Sam lets out a shaky breath, and Dean angles his face closer, smiling when Sam closes the gap between them. Sam kisses him like he’s trying to make up for lost time until he pulls away a few minutes later, refusing to look at Dean. Dean doesn’t push, instead pressing his lips to the top of Sam’s head. “Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow I’ll have a new, comfortable chair set up for you.”

Dean gives it another week before he stops lacing Sam’s food and drinks with blood, and by the end of the first day, Sam realises what Dean’s been doing.

“How could it take me this long to notice?!”

“I don’t think you wanted to notice, Sam. You’re an addict. You like how the blood makes you feel.” 

Sam refuses to eat or drink after finding out, and Dean pulls out the syringe kit. Ignoring Sam’s angry protests, he gives him two doses. “You do realise you’re fighting the inevitable, right?”

Sam’s angry stare is fixed on the opposite wall, and Dean leaves him alone. When he returns a few hours later, the sandwich, coffee and water he’d left on the table next to Sam’s chair are gone.

Weeks pass with Dean repeating the cycle of giving and then withholding blood, and eventually Sam breaks, giving himself over to his addiction completely. Sam shakes from withdrawal as he begs Dean to give him blood, and Dean kisses him roughly, chuckling when Sam bites his lip until it bleeds. A bleeding lip doesn’t give Sam anywhere near the amount of demon blood his body craves, and he lets out a frustrated growl.

Dean steps into the hall where Crowley is waiting with two demons he’s sentenced to death.

“Are you _sure_ you’re brother at full strength is a good idea?” Crowley asks.

“Stop worrying. He’s tied up and I’m keeping it that way. Keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”

Dean leads the demons into the dungeon, pushing one at Sam’s feet and the other into a second Devil’s Trap he’s recently painted onto the floor. He removes the restraints tying Sam’s arms to the chair but leave’s the collar which forces Sam to remain seated. Dean hands him a pocket knife and pulls the first demon back closer to Sam. “Drink up, Sammy.”

When Sam has drained the first demon, he lets him fall to the floor before throwing his hand out towards the second. Light flashes inside the demon’s vessel, and the demon screams, lifelessly dropping to the floor after a few moments. Sam’s eyes are almost black, and Dean is pretty sure he’s never been more turned on.

* * *

When Dean reveals the rest of his plan to Sam, Sam isn’t as accepting of it as Dean had hoped he’d be. Dean opts to push forward regardless, laying out the details.

“I think it’s safe to say that all you special demon children had it in you to eventually master all the abilities we saw back in the day. A few of you overachievers already demonstrated that. I need to be smart about this, though. Mind control will definitely be saved for last when I know you’re with me. I start that now, and I’ll find myself back in that chair being jabbed with needles.

“And of course you’ve already aced demon exorcism and killing, as well as demonstrated that you are still very capable, so there’s no need to work on that, but if you want to kill a demon, just say the word, and I will bring you one to play with. Promise. Crowley has an endless supply of demons deserving death.”

“What if I try to exorcise you?”

“We both know you don’t have it in you to kill me, Sammy. Besides, I don’t think that would work on me. Don’t forget, I’m not your typical demon, and I’m not riding around in someone else’s meat suit. Now back to the lesson plan. Superhuman strength. That’s another one that will have to wait until I can untie you. Though I will say that I think this one may be easy to succeed after achieving the other abilities. With your existing physical strength and Sasquatch frame, you should have no trouble becoming superman.

“What else was there? Ah, yes. Heart stopping touch. You aren’t anywhere near close to even considering stopping a heart, so we’ll leave that one for the future as well. But don’t worry. We do have abilities that are safe to work on. You’ve demonstrated telekinesis in the past, so I know it’s buried in there somewhere.”

“Those were life or death situations when that happened,” Sam points out. “Saving you and survival triggered it.”

“That may be, but it’s still in you. Don’t worry. With focus and practise, I know you can do it. Same with the electric touch. I’m sure you can pull it off. And I promise I won’t make you practise on anything that you can accidentally shock to death. Scouts honor. Eventually I also want to try that image mind thing Andy did. Maybe you can pull it off without the mind control. That could be fun. Or it could backfire,” Dean adds as an afterthought. “You could end up psychically bugging me all day.” Shrugging, Dean claps Sam on the shoulder. “We’ll just see how it goes.”

* * *

To try and bring out the electrokinesis ability in Sam, Dean uses a stun gun to administer small doses of electricity to his brother. Sam is far from thrilled, snapping at Dean to stop after every jab of the stun gun.

“Come on, Sam, focus. You’re angry and I’m shocking you. Shock me back.”

Dean presses the stun gun onto Sam’s shoulder, holding it in place for a longer period. When Sam yells at him to stop, Dean’s body flies back into the wall.

“Well ok then. You did say survival was a trigger. Not the ability we were working on but still a great outcome.”

The next day, Dean trades the stun gun for miscellaneous objects to throw at Sam. Dean tosses the objects at his brother, urging him to push them away with his mind. “Think of it as an imaginary baseball bat or something. We both know you have it in you, Sam.”

Non-threatening objects are providing zero results, and Dean eventually pulls out throwing stars. Sam gets angry and worried, but Dean is confident, and rightly so. Sam manages to throw the first two stars off their course, the first just barely and the second completely. Still fueled by anger and fear, the third star ends up thrown back at Dean, sticking into his shoulder.

Dean is proud of him and can tell that a part of Sam is pleased with himself and happy with Dean’s praise. The realisation provides Dean with the solution he may have been missing. Sam can succeed when threatened in some way, but to truly develop the abilities, Sam needs to give in and want to succeed. Dean can’t force that out of him, he needs to coax it out over time.

Applying his new method, Dean decides they’re done for the day and joins Sam in his chair.

“I’m still mad at you,” Sam points out.

“Keep telling yourself that and maybe the rest of your body will catch up.”

* * *

Now that Dean has made major progress in his plans for Sam, Crowley decides he finally has time to uphold his end of their partnership and gives Dean a second chance at properly performing a crossroads deal kill.

Dean brings the victim to the dungeon to get Sam’s opinion.

“How do you think I should get the job done? I hear he’s a real piece of work.”

Dean hears the sound of bone snapping, and the scumbag he’s meant to kill falls to the floor. Dean is impressed. “Did you just use telekinesis to snap his neck?”

Instead of an answer, Dean hears a lock clicking and watches as Sam removes the collar from around his neck before standing up.

“I managed to unlock the collar a few days ago, but I wanted time to get my body used to being out of the chair and free again. After all, I’ve been tied up for what, six months?”

“Closer to eight, actually. So now that you’re free, what’s the plan, Sammy?”

Sam is slowly walking towards him, and Dean backs up until he’s stopped by a wall.

“You, me, the Impala, the open road… But first I thought I might tie _you_ up for a bit. It’s only fair, after all. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Sam smirks down at him with black eyes and Dean grins. He doesn’t doubt it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Howl at the Moon by wondering_why_i](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729831) by [millygal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal)




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